Appassionato
by wyles77
Summary: The moment Rachel Shepard steps through the door of Liara T'Soni's office in Nos Astra, well… nothing will ever be quite the same again. Two-POV, Better Angels 'verse, M for mature themes and language.
1. Chapter 1:Sforzando

**A/N:** _Off into slightly moodier territory here, per request from my good pal Planetar. I hope this approaches what you had in mind, and once again, thanks for the support! Bioware owns all things Mass Effect, I'm just havin' a little fun with their universe. _

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Sforzando<strong>

"We're fast to the dock. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Nos Astra."

Anticipation starts a churning sensation in Rachel Shepard's stomach at Joker's declaration.

Liara's here, on this planet, somewhere in this city.

In the six weeks since she woke up on Miranda's lab bench, her uncertainty as to Liara's whereabouts and fate has been eating away at her. Every friend who confesses ignorance, every attempt at communication that disappears into the void (fifteen messages and counting), every extranet search that returns no results after the date of the wreck of the Normandy adds another chunk of ice to her gut. Serrice University refused to disclose any information, and there's no family contact Shepard knows of.

She would have asked Ash, begged her if she'd been given the opportunity, if Garrus and Miranda hadn't physically restrained her from chasing her former comrade. Where Liara's concerned, Shepard has no pride, only a desperate need to lay eyes on her lover, see for herself that the shy, beautiful asari archaeologist who captured her heart is alive and well.

And now that she finally has that opportunity, she's nervous. Excited. Apprehensive. Nope, none of the above. Fucking _terrified_.

Everyone keeps reminding her not to expect too much.

"It's been two years, Shepard."

"People change, Commander."

"You've been gone a long time. People did their best to mourn you and move on."

"Can I assume you've put your past behind you?"

_No, you fucking well can't, you smug, sanctimonious bastard_. A hot surge of irritation flares as she remembers _that_ conversation with her scheming snake of a backer. She'd left the debriefing fighting a murderous urge to break something. Her temper, already stoked by Ash's venomous accusations of treachery, had threatened to burn out of control at the revelation of the set-up, and while Jack was hardly her idea of a trusted confidante, sharing a drink and a bitching session with someone who truly had reason to hate Cerberus had restored both some equilibrium and perspective. But then the drink had tasted good, her first real indulgence since being resurrected, and the typical tipsy logic of being three or four rounds in had given rise to an all-night session (and Jesus, _how_ does someone as tiny as Jack hold her booze so well?). The bottle ended up dry; Shepard ended up sleeping on the floor of the sub-deck, crawling up to the elevator at some time well past three in the morning to flake out again propped up against the stupid, empty fish tank in her cabin. Possibly there's some kind of metaphor there.

And then, while still suffering the mother of all hangovers, the answer to her prayers was dropped into her lap by Miranda. That Shepard was in the doghouse with her XO was made quite clear by the icy lack of sympathy (or even mockery) regarding her condition, but there had been a distinct aura of discomfort about Operative Lawson when she'd mentioned Liara's presence on Illium. Shepard hadn't been able to process it properly at the time, but now that she's had a chance to do some headache-free reflection, she's convinced that yet again, the Illusive Man has been hiding things from her. Difference is, this time Miranda's not quite so sanguine about it for some reason. Maybe, just maybe, she's getting Miranda onside.

_And maybe, just maybe, you're trying too hard not to think about what's about to happen_, Shepard chides herself. _Man the fuck up, Commander_.

She directs Garrus and Miranda to accompany her ashore; Garrus because hopefully Liara will appreciate a friendly face, Miranda because Shepard wants to see what else she might let slip if confronted. Out of habit, she dons her armour and weapons; Illium may be an asari world, but it's still in the Terminus and still therefore as dangerous as Omega. _Safety first_.

As if to mock her precautions, the welcome they receive on setting foot ashore is far more civilised than on Omega. An asari in somewhat scanty civilian clothes, accompanied by two security mechs, hurries forward with a beaming smile. "Welcome to Nos Astra, Commander Shepard. We've been instructed to waive all docking and administration fees for your visit. My name is Carina." The asari looks her over appraisingly. "If you need information about the area, it would be my pleasure to assist you."

"Who instructed you to waive the fees?" Shepard asks curiously, glancing at Miranda. The other woman shakes her head slightly, denying responsibility.

"The order came from Liara T'Soni, who paid all fees on your behalf," Carina replies, as if it should be obvious. "She also asked that I direct you to speak with her at your convenience." The docking agent activates her omni-tool, dismissing the mechs. "She retains offices near the trading floor."

Shepard cocks her head, confused. Sounds like Liara's got some pull in this town, not what she would have expected. "What does Dr. T'Soni do?" she asks, trying to keep a professional spin on the conversation.

"Dr. T'Soni is one of Nos Astra's most respected information brokers," Carina explains. "Nos Astra's success is based upon trade. Information is valuable currency and Dr. T'Soni has done quite well. As I said, you'll find her near the trading floor."

"Thank you," Shepard acknowledges politely.

"Again, welcome to our city, Commander. Please enjoy your stay, and don't hesitate to let me know if you should require anything." Carina's look this time is more than appraising. "_Anything_ at all."

Shepard blushes. "Uh... thanks," she mutters again, rubbing at her neck awkwardly. There's a beat of uncomfortable silence, then the asari smiles ruefully, nods, and turns away to follow the mechs.

Garrus barks a laugh. "Damn, she practically threw herself at you and you just stood there scratching."

"I'm not here for romance," Shepard retorts shortly, kicking herself as Garrus laughs even louder.

"Sure, keep telling yourself that, Shepard. Shall we go? The suspense is killing me."

"Lay off, Garrus," Miranda cuts in, her tone oddly… protective. Shepard arches an eyebrow at her XO, and Lawson shrugs.

"I don't need to spend the _whole_ day watching you behave like a teenager," she huffs in a passable imitation of her regular hauteur as she walks off. Following suit, Shepard exchanges a quick wink with Garrus; no doubt about it, they're definitely getting to her. Someday soon, Miranda's ice queen demeanour is going to thaw out properly.

An asari in a striking white and coral ensemble calls out as they catch up to Lawson. "Excuse me? Excuse me, are you Commander Shepard?"

"So much for incognito," Garrus mutters. "Is there anyone on this rock who _doesn't_ know who you are?"

"You're Commander Shepard," the asari declares. Shepard darts a wry glance at Garrus. _Apparently not, G_. "I saw your… I guess you would say your aura. I'd recognise you anywhere." The asari looks around, lowers her voice. "I was asked to give you a message if I saw you – it's from a friend you made on Noveria."

"What message were you asked to give?" Shepard asks.

The asari's eyes roll back in her head, and her voice takes on a peculiar polytonal aspect as she begins to speak. It takes Shepard a moment to place the memory of the voice and the speech patterns, and when she does she exchanges an incredulous look with Garrus at hearing the message from the rachni queen, alive and well and thriving in an unknown location.

"I'm glad to hear you're rebuilding," Shepard responds. "Are you somewhere close by?"

The asari shivers, blinks, and seems to regain herself. Regretfully, she explains that the rachni are elsewhere, thanks Shepard profusely for saving them, wishes her well, and moves off into the throng, quickly disappearing from view.

As she glides away, Miranda cocks a wry eyebrow. "Well, that was unexpected."

"I hear that." Shepard blows out a breath. "Unbelievable." She looks across the concourse as she starts to walk, then she stops again, staring at the familiar visage of the attractive brunette seated at table by the trading floor, nursing a long drink of some clear liquid. "Speaking of friends from Noveria," she says in surprise, nudging Garrus.

Garrus follows her gaze. "Well, I'll be damned. Is that Gianna Parasini?"

"Sure looks like her," Shepard replies. As she watches, the Noverian Internal Affairs agent looks up, catching Shepard's gaze.

"Holy crap, _Shepard_?" she exclaims stridently. "I thought you were dead!"

"I've been getting that a lot," Shepard deflects sardonically. "I've been thinking about taking out an ad on the extranet, just so it's clear. "I'm not dead", in big red letters." She grins as she offers her hand. "It's good to see you again, Gianna."

"You too." Parasini shakes, then gestures to the seats opposite. "Sit down. I seem to recall I owe you a beer."

Shepard's really not in the mood for chit-chat, but something in the woman's eyes suggest this isn't a casual request. "Sure, we've got a little time." She drops into one of the chairs, and Garrus and Miranda follow her lead.

"So what brings you to Illium? You know, that you can talk about?" Parasini asks.

"I'm on a mission, top-secret. Mostly putting together a team and doing research right now."

"Right. No offence taken; I've been undercover enough to know how it works." The IA agent drains her drink, glancing around the trading floor as she does so, and what she sees makes her grimace. "Damn, my mark's getting suspicious. I have to go – I can't break cover, but… actually, would you mind helping out an old friend?"

"I have an appointment," Shepard apologises (she likes Gianna, but Liara's far more important), "but Garrus can help you out if you need."

Parasini grins enthusiastically. "Awesome."

Garrus shoots Shepard a look that clearly asks "Are you sure?" and she nods slightly. The turian shrugs, then turns to the undercover agent. "OK, Parasini, what's the sting this time?"

Shepard leaves them to it, moving to the foot of the staircase behind the access door to the transport operations centre with Miranda shadowing her.

Liara's at the top of these stairs.

Butterflies don't even begin to cover what's going on in her stomach.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. Get a grip, Rach._

It's all she can do to mask her agitation as she takes the stairs two at a time, Karin Chakwas' well-meaning warning echoing around her skull.

_It's been two years. Liara was devastated at losing you, and your walking through her door is bound to be a shock. Tread carefully, dear girl, for both your sakes. I don't want to see you get hurt, either of you._

She pays no attention to Miranda's little huff of exasperation (she's still irked, no doubt, by Shepard's stipulation that she wear a heavier suit of armour than that catsuit after being needlessly, in Shepard's opinion, wounded at the Hahne-Kedar mech facility), skidding to a halt opposite an immaculately tidy desk and meeting the enquiring gaze of the lilac-skinned asari seated behind it.

"Hello Commander Shepard," the asari greets her calmly. "Dr. T'Soni is expecting you."

"You're Liara's assistant?" Shepard surmises.

"Yes. Liara relies upon me to acquire useful intelligence. I don't have her network of contacts, but I supply her with supplemental data. It's really an honour to work with her."

Shepard's not sure what to say to that, so she moves on. "Uh, so… can I go in?"

"Oh, of course, Commander." The asari taps a button on her interface, unlocking the door.

"Thanks."

And just like that, the moment arrives. Liara's in the next room, waiting for her.

_OK, you can do this. Just play it cool. And don't assume anything._

That plan goes out the window the second she sees Liara. Sheathed in an elegant green and white dress that hugs every curve, the vision that is her lover stops her brain in its tracks – _my God, she's so beautiful. Liara, sweetheart_… Her mouth dries up, she can't form words. She takes an involuntary step toward the asari whose presence is her lodestone, hands lifting almost of their own accord, fingers aching to touch. And then…

"Have you faced an asari commando unit before? Few humans have."

Shepard stops dead as she hears Benezia's cold, cruel purr from a lifetime ago. It's Liara that's speaking, though, addressing a stony-faced man in a pricey suit via a haptic interface. "I'll make it simple," Liara continues in that icy, threatening tone. "Either you pay me, or I flay you alive… _with my mind_."

Shepard's momentarily thrown off her stride, as the asari cuts off the transmission with an irritated swipe at her omni-tool. There's nothing about the scene she's just witnessed that tracks with her memories.

Alerted to the fact that she's no longer alone, Liara spins around, and her mouth drops open as her gaze locks with Shepard's.

"Shepard!" she exclaims. "Nyxeris, hold my calls!"

Dismissing what she's just heard for the moment, Shepard looks into Liara's face and sees a riot of conflicting emotions that quickly blossom into unalloyed joy. _It's going to be OK_. Grinning, she steps forward, taking Liara's hands, cursing the gloves that keep her from feeling the asari's cool, smooth skin. Dipping her head, she catches Liara's mouth with a kiss, the warm, soft silk of her lips the final missing piece of Shepard's new lease of life. She's finally, irrefutably, back from the dead.

_Liara_.

She can see her, smell her, touch her, hear her. Taste her. She's not imagining it, she's really kissing Liara. The familiar tension of arousal begins to coil in her belly, her body responding as it should to the beautiful asari.

_Liara_.

Liara leans into the kiss, her lips parting slightly. She sighs softly, and Shepard's heart gives a little kick of elation. She lets her eyes drift close as happiness washes through her, wanting to imprint this feeling firmly in her soul.

_Liara_.

And then, in an instant, it all falls apart.

Liara stiffens, and as Shepard opens her eyes the asari pulls back with a shake of her head. She straightens her shoulders, and suddenly the young version of Benezia is there all over again, aloof and poised. Shepard tries to voice a question, but the words stick in her throat as Liara steps back, putting physical distance between them.

"My sources said you were alive," Liara states coolly. "I never believed…" she takes a breath, "it's… good to see you."

Shepard throws Miranda a quick glance, obeying her recently developed instinct to check context with her XO. Lawson shrugs almost imperceptibly, and Shepard looks back at her beloved, totally lost for a next step. The silence is becoming awkward, oppressive, and she blurts out the first thing that leaps to mind. "You have sources now?"

_Brilliant, Rachel. Way to stay on topic._

Oddly, Liara looks relieved at the question, launching into a detailed explanation of her work, a safe, neutral subject, as she sits down. When she mentions that she knows they're after the Collectors, it's all Shepard can do not to gawp. _How the hell?_ And then her mouth runs off on autopilot. "Well, if you know that, then you know that I could use your help." _Please, Li. Come with me._

Liara scowls. "I can't, Shepard. I'm sorry. I have commitments here. Things I need to take care of."

It's the same reason as Tali gave, the same reason as Ash, but the rejection cuts infinitely more deeply falling from Liara's lips. Part of Shepard wants to ask, straight out, if she's not more important to Liara than these mystery _things_, but fear bridles the impulse. If the answer's no, she's not sure she could stand to hear it. She's not ready to hear Liara say their relationship is history; she has no clue how she'd deal with that.

"What kind of things do you need to take care of?" she asks instead, hoping she doesn't sound too desperate. "Are you in trouble?" _Say the word and I'll help_.

Liara looks away, too quickly. "No," she replies, "no trouble, but…" she gets to her feet, turns away again, "it's been a long two years. I had things to do while you were gone. I have debts to repay." She squares her shoulders and turns back to face Shepard. "Listen, if you want to help, I need someone with hacking expertise, someone I can trust." She adopts a more business-like air. "If you can disable security at key points around the port, you could get me information I need."

That's really not the kind of help Shepard is envisaging, and the cold, clinical tone stokes her frustration again. "What's this all about, Liara?" she demands. "Can't you just talk to me?"

Guilt flares in the asari's eyes, and her expression softens briefly, but then the blast doors slam back down as she favours Miranda with a not-so-subtle glare. "Don't you think I want to, Shepard?" she says harshly, and in spite of herself, Shepard flinches. Liara bites her lip, looks down at her terminal again. "This isn't because I don't trust you. This is Illium. Anything I say is probably being recorded."

It's a clear enough message. Liara doesn't trust Miranda, doesn't trust what she represents. "If it'll help you, I'll take care of it," Shepard promises – this conversation's clearly going nowhere with the Cerberus officer present, no matter how well-intentioned her XO might be. Getting the intel will get her a second date, and she can come alone. She should have made Miranda wait outside, but she'd been so caught up in the moment she hadn't stopped to think.

Liara nods, and launches into a briefing on how to hack the data terminals. Her tone is brusque, almost impatient, as though she wants them gone. And yet again, the coldness slides through the chink in Shepard's armour, twisting the knife of Liara's rejection a little more. A little spark of fight flares, just about enough to push her into telling the asari that she loves her, just getting it out there and dealing with the fallout, but as she meets Liara's gaze one more time in rising to her feet, she recognizes something that knocks every last scrap of resistance out of her.

Liara _knows_.

Liara knows Shepard too well.

Liara knows Shepard still loves her, and it's not enough.

She feels sick suddenly. If Liara no longer cares… _No, that can't be true. She was happy to see me. I don't… I don't understand…_

"We'll be in touch," Miranda says, laying one hand on Shepard's shoulder to draw her back to the moment. Confused though the soldier is, she does not miss the naked flash of jealousy that ruptures Liara's professionalism, and she's hurt just enough to take satisfaction from it. She nods curtly and turns away, walking out before she loses what little composure she has left.

Dazed, winded, kicked in the gut, Shepard grinds to a halt right outside the door. _What the fuck was that? _She cups her hands over her mouth, squeezes her eyes shut, and drags in a hollow breath before letting it out again slowly. "Fuck."

It's the only word that will come.

"Fuck."

Miranda steps past her, all business. Nyxeris takes one look at the Cerberus officer, and whatever she sees clearly scares her as she excuses herself and departs down the stairs with alacrity. An awkward silence opens up, and Miranda clears her throat as she turns to face Shepard. "I'm so sorry, Shepard," she offers hesitantly, an expression close to sympathy on her coolly beautiful face. "It must have been quite a shock for her to see you. She never really believed we could revive you. I'm sure if you give her a little time…"

Shepard looks away. She likes Miranda, trusts her, even, but not this much, not this far. Not yet. Not with this. "I don't want to talk about it," she warns gruffly. "I just… Shit, Miranda, I'm sorry, I need a little time to think. Alone."

Miranda meets her gaze for a long moment, and an expression that looks close to guilt flits across her face, then she attempts a smile and nod. "Sure." She grips Shepard's shoulders, an oddly comforting gesture. "Is there anything I can do?"

Grateful for her XO's tacit understanding, Shepard nods. "Yeah. Can you get that data for me?"

"Not a problem," Miranda agrees immediately. "I'll take care of it right now. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I'll check in later."

"Don't do anything stupid, will you?" Miranda risks a mock-lecturing tone. "The fines on Illium are astronomical, and we do have a limit to our budget."

Shepard finds a little chuckle somewhere under her bewilderment. "Yeah, I hear you. I won't sign anything, either, I promise. I'll see you back at the boat."

She leaves Miranda at the foot of the stairs, scowling at Nyxeris for good measure as the obsequious assistant slinks back up to her post. Garrus and Parasini are nowhere to be seen; hopefully that's a good sign. Crossing the floor she sees the signs for a bar; she imagines she can feel her liver twitch in protest after the abuse she inflicted on it the other day, but what the hell, one drink while she works through this isn't going to hurt.

Shouldering through the throng on the stairs, she makes her way into the bar – Eternity – and heads to the counter, where a dark-skinned asari is industriously polishing a glass to pass the time. She looks Shepard up and down, then nods companionably. "What can I get you?"

"Bourbon rocks, please," Shepard replies shortly. She's not really in the mood for small talk. The asari studies her for a moment, then sets the glass down.

"One of those days?" she hazards as she snags the bottle and pours.

"Hell yeah," Shepard confirms.

The barkeep passes over the drink. "On the house, kid. You look like you need it."

Shepard blinks. "Thanks," she replies, feeling a little ashamed. She fights with herself for a moment, torn between mood and manners, and the asari chuckles.

"Save it, babe. I can see you got some thinking to do. We can do the social chit-chat next time you're in. Just don't get in any trouble, OK?"

Shepard raises the glass in one more salute of thanks, taking a deep pull of the whiskey. The burn warms her chest and stomach as the liquid works its way down to her belly, and she sighs in contentment, welcoming the familiar taste and sensation, a tiny anchor in the maelstrom of uncertainty her day has become.

Leaning on the counter, trying not to think, she becomes absorbed in watching the dancers, the sinuous, fluid grace of their movements, the come-hither pouting of full lips, the dangerous promise of desire in the coy, fleeting moments of eye contact. The girls here know their trade, as well as they do on Omega. One in particular commands the attention of nearly the whole room, a pale-skinned, lithe maiden whose physical features are uncomfortably similar to Liara's. Collecting her drink, Shepard wanders closer, picking a standing table where she has a clear line of sight. The objective part of her brain is protesting, but three months of fantasising about Liara has had her libido building quite the head of steam, and actually touching and kissing her again has set off a chain reaction in the Spectre's lower belly that the rhythm of the music and the asari's lithe form are catalysing.

She watches the dancer intently for a while, enjoying the rush of blood the sensuous movements initially provoke, but oddly the resemblance to Liara becomes off-putting after a few minutes; the polished, brazen sensuality of the dance routine is too perfect, too practiced, the exact opposite of Liara's shy, honest responses to Shepard's hands and mouth on her body.

_Liara moans, a quiet, breathy little noise that catches in her throat as she arches into Shepard's touch. Shepard smiles at her. "D'you like that, sweetheart?"_

_"Yes... oh, Goddess, Rachel, please… do it again?"_

_Shepard shakes her head. "I have a better idea, if you trust me?"_

_Liara nods eagerly, accepting Shepard's offer with an impassioned kiss. Shepard grins against the asari's lips, then works her way tortuously down her lover's body, her kisses trailing lower and lower as she positions herself between Liara's legs. Liara watches her, lower lip caught between her teeth, the tiniest frown of curiosity creasing her brow. Shepard smiles a reassurance, then lowers her mouth to Liara's azure, bestowing a single, light kiss. Liara shudders, a deep, throaty moan rising from her chest, and her whole body trembles with anticipation as, blushing furiously, she cants her hips upward in a wordless plea for more…_

A whoop of approval from the crowd brings Shepard back to the moment; the dancer has dispensed with her top, but the spell of her confected aesthetic is broken, at least in Rachel's mind. Discomfited and ashamed, she looks away, and in so doing catches the glance of another spectator, a human guy in dark, nondescript clothing, simple combat trousers and a skin-tight vest. She flicks her gaze up and down, taking in the confident stance, the coffee-coloured skin, the dark, intense eyes, the sculpted muscles of his arms and pectorals. He flashes her a grin, perfect white teeth, and the arousal that she was just about getting a grip on slips her hold again. Her body throbs even more with want as she imagines how it would feel to have him above her, inside her, thrusting into her with wanton intent: the slide of flesh against flesh; the warm salt taste of human sweat against her lips; the bunch and flex of those powerful muscles beneath her hands; the pleasant rough graze of stubble against her skin.

Sweat pops out on her forehead as her imagination runs riot. With an effort, she drops her gaze, takes a long pull from her drink, the bite of the bourbon restoring perspective. She's tempted, no doubt about it, but she's never been a slave to her appetites. And besides, she's never been into no-strings-sex, and the last thing she's looking for is a new relationship. She has to believe she still has one of those, however complicated it suddenly seems to be. Even if her attempt to reconnect with Liara is doomed to failure, she's not going to jeopardize her hopes by hooking up with some random stranger in a bar less than fifty metres from where her girlfriend – _and yes, dammit, I'll think of her that way till she unequivocally tells me otherwise_ – has her information broker's office. She looks back up, meets the stranger's enquiring glance, and shakes her head with an apologetic smile, tapping the fourth finger of her armoured left hand with her right index finger. _Sorry pal. Spoken for._

The man shrugs as if to say "so what" as he takes a step toward her, and Shepard's roiling stew of emotions coalesces into the clean burn of adrenaline as her battle-conditioned reflexes identify a potential threat. Cracking her neck, she shifts her weight to balance herself, and gives the guy her best intimidating stare, but he's either too drunk or too stupid to recognise the change, and takes another step.

_Really?_

Shepard sighs, bunches her shoulders, then snaps through a reflexive one-eighty pivot as a hand lands on her back with a distinct excess of hearty force. Somehow, she pulls the follow-through strike as her brain catches up with her instincts.

"There you are," Garrus rumbles, his hawkish stare locked on her would-be suitor, forearm extended in an equally reflexive block to Shepard's aborted attack. "Lawson said you gave her the brush off."

The stranger drops his gaze, the turian's forbidding presence enough to dash his hopes, and turns his attention back to the dancer. Relieved and yet somehow disappointed, Shepard turns to her best friend, moodily knocking back the remains of her drink. "Jackass," she mutters.

"Don't you know better than to provoke the wildlife?" Garrus cracks.

Shepard's not really in the mood for funny, still coming down off the impending fight. "Hey, G. How'd it go? Hope you had a better afternoon than I did."

He looks at her in sympathetic concern. "All wrapped up. Parasini says the drinks are on her, tomorrow night at Eternity. Your reunion didn't go so well, I take it?"

"That's putting it mildly," Shepard admits, feeling tears threaten at the thought of Liara's cold, haughty demeanour.

Garrus, bless him, is attuned enough to her tone not to press. "Well, I took care of Parasini's little problem, so I guess now we have a little free time. Is there something in particular you want to do? Shoot a few lowlifes, maybe? Lay down the law, Spectre-style, to the denizens of Nos Astra? Get roaring drunk and streak across the spaceport?"

In spite of her mood, Shepard lets out an amused huff. "Jesus, that's an image I didn't need."

"Tell me about it. No offence, Shepard, but I don't ever need to see you naked."

"None taken. The feeling's mutual." Shepard sighs pensively. She'd really like to get drunk, but the memory of the morning after Horizon, not two days gone, is still graphically raw in her memory. She'd really like to get laid, but in spite of her brief moment of fantasy, the only person she's actually interested in sleeping with is Liara. Of the holy triad of approved marine procedures for dealing with emotions, drinking and fucking are off the table. Which leaves only one avenue for blowing off the steam she's built up. If she can get it out of her system, she can perhaps focus on fixing the complete clusterfuck her love life has just become. She's not giving up on Liara that easily. She can't. Liara's the best thing that ever happened to her, and if she can't fight for that, there's nothing else worth fighting for.

She gives her turian companion a sidelong glance. He's derailed one opportunity for violence, so the least he can do is provide another. "Fancy heading back to the boat and doing a little dancing? My new gloves and pads need some more breaking in."

Garrus flares his mandibles, cocks his head to one side. "Mood you're in, the thing you're most likely to end up breaking in is the other side of my face."

The opening is totally manufactured, and Shepard feels a sudden swell of affection for her friend. "Like anyone'd notice. What if I promise to go easy on you, Birdbrain?" she jibes, a genuine smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"Birdbrain?" Garrus grins at her. "You trash talk like that, monkey, you'd better be prepared to back it up. I got two years' experience on the streets of Omega to share with you. If you go easy on me, I'll hand you your ass, and that's a promise."

Shepard's smirk widens as she falls into step with him, heading for the exit. "Is that so?"

"That's so," Garrus agrees cockily. "Maybe I'll even put a pretty pink bow on it."

"I'm hearing a lot of hot air, Vakarian. Remind me, who was it that needed rescued from their experience on the streets of Omega?"

"Aw come on, even you'll admit that a gunship's an unfair advantage. I'd have stopped them, given time."

"You couldn't stop a nosebleed," Shepard scoffs, laughing finally as Garrus attempts to start one by elbowing her in the face. People passing by begin staring at them, but Shepard couldn't care less. This is exactly what she needs right now.

Roughhousing and bragging, the two head for the Normandy, settling into the well-worn, comfortable groove of their comradeship. Absorbed in their verbal sparring neither Shepard nor Garrus look up at the office where a lonely asari watches them, tears spilling unchecked down her flawless face.


	2. Chapter 2: Lacrimoso

**Chapter 2: Lacrimoso**

"Dr. T'Soni?"

"Yes, Nyxeris?" Liara looks up from her reports as her assistant enters her office.

"Forgive the interruption, but you asked to be informed immediately. We've just received notification from our agent at dock control. A Cerberus registered vessel has just arrived through the relay."

Liara tries to remain calm, as though a tectonic shift in her world is not heralded by those simple words. Cerberus has many ships and many agents, and Illium is a free port - there could be hundreds of explanations, could there not? "Oh? What's its registry and destination?"

Nyxeris consults her notes. "Bound for Nos Astra, registered as the SSV Normandy SR-2."

Vertigo forces Liara to grip the edge of her desk for support. Cerberus would never dare use that name for a ship, unless..."And the name of her captain?"

"A human. Commander Rachel Shepard." Nyxeris frowns. "As in, the hero of the Citadel? I understood she was dead?"

_She was. _

"So did I," Liara manages to keep her voice steady, barely. "But Spectres are adept at subterfuge. That may have simply been a cover. Nyxeris, please contact the Dockmaster's office, and pay all of the Normandy's docking fees from our operating budget. And please ask Carina to direct the Commander here at her convenience. I'm looking forward to seeing my old friend." She wants to say more, but she's afraid she'll begin babbling.

"Of course." Nyxeris excuses herself with a nod. Liara sinks back in her seat, sucks in a deep breath. If the miracle she never dared hope for has come to pass, then Shepard will be here soon. Within minutes.

_Rachel's here_.

The thought is too big. She can't comprehend its full magnitude. The idea that Shepard is alive again…

_"__Liara, go. Now."_

_"__Shepard... Shepard's gone, Captain!"_

Rachel's death had crippled her, kick-started a chain of events that turned everything she knew, everything that was familiar, on its head. _I'm no longer the person I was two years ago, but Rachel will not have changed. _

If it's really her.

Liara needs confirmation.

Sitting forward, she activates her terminal, sorting through saved reports from various sources that cite sightings of a human rumoured to be Commander Shepard on Omega, the Citadel, and just recently, Horizon. Judging Omega to be her most direct route to hard data, she routes a call through her contacts, and within a few seconds is negotiating a deal by proxy with the mining station's infamous pirate queen.

The cost of Aria's confirmation in astronomical by brokering standards, but Liara's in too much of a hurry to pay it any mind as her data feed begins to relay Omega's security camera footage. Her heart skips a beat as she sees a red-headed human woman, in nondescript merc armour, accompanied by the unmistakable figure of Miranda Lawson and a dark-skinned human male she doesn't recognize.

The woman turns, and Liara sucks in a sharp breath. Staring straight into the camera is the face that has haunted her dreams for two years. Commander Rachel Shepard.

On the vid, one of her companions says something, and she grins in response as she turns away. Dozens of memories of that same grin directed at her wash through Liara's consciousness and set her pulse racing.

The feed from dock security beeps – Carina, her agent, informing her that Commander Shepard is ashore with two crew members, a human and a turian.

_Goddess, there's no more time._

She fusses aimlessly around her office, moving the chairs, arranging her datapads, straightening the monitor, as if Shepard might judge her on the neatness of her desk. She's dreamed of this moment so often, but it's never occurred to her that the scene would be her office. Somehow, when she hankers for this reunion in the safety of her fantasies, the setting is always remote, secluded, away from prying eyes, that they might enjoy total privacy to reconnect as they see fit_. Shepard's hands wandering across her body, peeling her clothes away to expose her skin to the human's warm, clever touch._

Irritation spikes her daydream as her terminal's comm manager begins to shriek an incoming call warning, heralding the very type of interruption she so devoutly wishes to avoid. The identity of the caller does not diminish her ire; Jonas Cordeiro, a minor human politician lobbying for election on the Citadel who has reneged on his payment schedule. He's absolutely the last person she wants to speak to right now, but his continued recalcitrance is something she can ill afford. Politics is a recent expansion to her business, and if she gets a reputation for letting clients take advantage, she will be fatally compromised. She stabs at the receive button savagely – it will only take a moment to deal with him.

She doesn't give him an opportunity to set himself. "Mr. Cordeiro, I note from my records that you are still in arrears on your payments. I have been more than patient, but given that the invoice for my services was issued over four weeks ago you will understand that I am not interested in listening to any further excuses. If your account is not settled within twenty-four hours I will be forced to take...steps."

Cordeiro offers an unctuous, condescending smile. "Miss T'Soni, I'm afraid you don't understand how these things are done. I ..."

"_Doctor_ T'Soni," Liara cuts him off icily, temper slipping. "And I understand perfectly well that you owe me fifteen thousand credits. Tell me," she makes a show of adding notes to her omni-tool, "have you faced an asari commando unit before? Few humans have." She scowls at him. "I'll make it simple. Either you pay me, or I flay you alive… _with my mind_." She cuts off the transmission with a peeved stab at her omni-tool, and as she does, her thought process catches up with her senses and she realizes she's not alone.

She spins around, and there's no escaping the moment any longer.

Rachel Shepard is standing in her doorway.

_Oh, Rachel_.

"Shepard!" she gasps. She is mortified, disbelieving, exalted, terrified, all in the same moment. "Nyxeris, hold my calls," she manages to order, not even sure if her assistant is even in the room, her gaze locked on one person, and one person only.

_Rachel_.

Joy floods her, deep and fierce, as she stares unashamedly. Shepard commands the whole of her attention, a siren calling to her very soul. Liara rakes her gaze down the human, from the fall of her fire-tinted auburn hair, the sparkling green eyes and freckled nose; over the powerful, muscular body encased in a defiantly N7-decorated suit of Kestrel armour. An enormous, familiar, lopsided grin splits the human's face as she moves forward with the commanding, dangerous grace Liara remembers so well. It's as though she's never been gone, and for an eternal moment, reality drops away and time slows, happiness pulsing through Liara's every nerve and synapse.

_Rachel_.

Shepard grasps her hands, strong, armoured fingers gently taking her captive.

_It's really you, isn't it? Rachel… my love? _

Shepard tilts her head, closing the distance slowly, her hesitation a wordless request for permission. Liara leans in, granting the request. Their lips touch, softly, perfectly, and the exaltation redoubles in Liara's soul. There's no doubt in her mind that the woman she's kissing is Rachel Shepard. She has the same warmth. She tastes the same, smells the same, the elusive hints of oranges and cinnamon and the clean scent of her perspiration. The brush of her hair against Liara's cheek is a familiar tickle. Liara reaches out, just a little, with her mind, feels the edge of the soul she knows best in the galaxy save her own. _Goddess, it really is you. I…_

Movement shatters the spell.

Miranda Lawson has done nothing more than shift her weight, avert her gaze, but her presence in the room is a sledgehammer applied to the finest crystal, and the shards of Liara's happiest moment since the that terrible day over Alchera skitter away as the chill reality of the situation snap-freezes Liara's joy. Two years of grief and struggle reassert their dominance; two years of paranoia and pain.

_Rachel's broken, burnt corpse leers at her through the viewport of the pod, a nightmare worse than any husk, recognizable only from the faint trace of the characters N and 7 embossed into the charred armour. _

Liara jerks back, shaking her head in denial as fear swamps her. In spite of the warmth of Shepard's touch, the honest delight in her eyes and her mind as they kissed, this is simply too good to be true. She cannot afford to be naïve. The stakes are too high. Cerberus have revived Shepard for a suicide mission, and the most likely outcome is that she will be dead again before the year is out.

_I can't do this. I can't do this again. _

Shepard is slow to comprehend, her gaze tracking Liara in confusion as the asari steps back, careful to keep Operative Lawson in clear view. Her past interactions with the Cerberus agent have hardly engendered trust, and caution has saved her life many times since Shepard… left.

"My sources said you were alive," Liara manages once she is safely behind her desk, physically removed from the terrible temptation of Shepard's earnest, safe embrace. "I never believed… It's… good to see you."

Shepard flicks a quick glance to Lawson, whose shoulders twitch in the barest shrug, almost as though she's checking the other human heard the same thing. When she looks back at Liara, there's confusion in her gaze. "You have sources now?" she asks, nonplussed.

"A few." Liara turns away, paces to the window, using the diversion to balance herself. "Sources, contacts, even a little hired muscle. I've been working as an information broker. It's paid the bills since you…" she can't bring herself to utter the words. _You died. You left me_. She shrugs as she turns back, sitting down at her desk and gesturing for Shepard to take the seat opposite. "Well, for the past two years. And now you're back. Gunning for the Collectors with Cerberus." _You're alive – and they want you to take on a mission so dangerous it's practically certain you'll die again._

"Well, if you know that, then you know that I could use your help." Shepard sounds casual, but the look in her eyes is beseeching, an impassioned, intimate plea, and the sheer need in the human's expression stops the breath in Liara's lungs for a moment.

"I _can't_, Shepard," she grinds out, her voice harsh. "I'm sorry. I have commitments here. Things I need to take care of." The shield afforded by such excuses is paper-thin, but it's the only cover she has. Even as the words leave her mouth, it takes every shred of Liara's willpower not to snatch them back. But she doesn't have the strength to watch Shepard die again, sacrifice herself again for the sake of an uncaring, heedless galaxy. She's sure, deep in her heart, that she can't survive such a loss a second time.

"What kind of things do you need to take care of?" Shepard asks, concern immediately putting that damnable wrinkle in her forehead, the one Liara loves because it underlines her commander's kind, compassionate nature. "Are you in trouble?"

_Goddess, she'd drop everything to help me, and Athame forgive me, I want her to_. Liara averts her gaze, but her whole body aches for the protection of Shepard's arms around her, the safety she knows her love would grant her no matter the rights or wrongs of her cause.

_She wakes in the dark, gasping, heart hammering, her vision blurred and her face wet with tears. She can't stop the sob that wells from her chest. "Mother!" _

_She doesn't clearly remember the nightmare, but the grief it has provoked is inexorable. Curling in on herself, she tries to block it out, this resurgent pain of bereavement that catches her when she least expects it._

_Gentle, sure hands pry her open, roll her over. "Shhh, Li, it's OK. It's just a nightmare." Shepard's voice, husky with sleep, holds nothing but tenderness and compassion._

_"__Rachel, I…"_

_"__It's OK. C'mere." _

_Liara allows herself to be drawn into a tight, warm embrace. She presses close to her lover, skin to skin, taking comfort from the heat of her body and the shield of her arms. "Meld with me," the human murmurs against her aural cavity, her fingers trailing soothingly along Liara's crests. "Meld with me, sweetheart."_

_Craving the comfort of the bright, assured love she knows she will find in Rachel's thoughts, Liara gladly complies. _

Goddess, she yearns for that comfort now, more than she has ever wanted anything in her life. But she dares not chance it. Even if she wills it, even if Shepard wills it, until she is sure that her bold commander has not been tampered with, changed, bound by some twisted bargain or technological control to serve Cerberus in more than name, full disclosure is a risk she cannot take_. Remember why you kept your distance. Remember why you told Lawson you did not care. _This is not some children's story. Shepard's self-determination and freedom can't be verified by a single kiss, and wishing will not make it so.

"No," she answers, "no trouble, but…" Agitated, she gets up again, pacing back to the window, "it's been a long two years. I had to do things while you were gone." Things she cannot bring herself to admit to Shepard, with her intact belief in Liara's innocence. To Shepard, whose every thought and action are predicated on just cause and honourable dealings. To Shepard, who would never leave a friend to die just to save her own skin. "I have debts to repay."

Bracing herself, she turns back. Her emotions are threatening to boil out of control. She needs time, space; she needs to think, not react. She needs Shepard to come back here alone, without Miranda Lawson as her insidious shadow (and come to think of it, where is Garrus? Shepard disembarked with a turian crew member, and there's only one turian in the galaxy who'd follow Shepard onto a Cerberus ship). She needs to get Shepard out of here while she regroups, because if she doesn't, she's going to throw herself into the human's arms, beg her for forgiveness, beg her to meld, and jeopardize everything she's trying to protect. "Listen, if you want to help, I need someone with hacking expertise, someone I can trust." Once the first sentence is out, it somehow gets easier. "If you can disable security at key points around the port, you could get me information I need."

Shepard stiffens. "What's this all _about_, Liara?" she demands, her tone laced with frustration. "Can't you just talk to me?"

"Don't you think I want to, Shepard?" Liara snaps back reflexively. Shepard recoils, an incredulous expression unhinging her jaw, and as Liara watches guiltily, hurt flares in the human's deep green eyes. Liara looks down, biting her lip to dam the apology rising in her chest, unable to watch as the damage she's deliberately inflicted in the name of protecting herself takes root. When she looks back, Shepard has command of her expression, barely. "This isn't because I don't trust you," she half-pleads, half-explains. _Far too little, far too late_. "This is Illium. Anything I say is probably being recorded." And Operative Lawson is as likely a suspect as anyone else.

Shepard shrugs, the gesture laden with resignation. "If it'll help you, sure. I'll take care of it," she agrees. No questions, no conditions, just simple faith. It feels like everything she says and does is designed to do the maximum damage to Liara's self-command.

Hastily, she runs through the instructions for the data hacks. As she finishes, she inadvertently meets Shepard's searching gaze as the soldier stands, sees the sudden flare of passion in the human's eyes. Frightened, she schools herself to a cool neutrality, feigning indifference as best she can. She must be cautious.

But erring on the side of caution takes a terrible toll. Shepard's shoulders slump. The spark of hope in her eyes gutters and dies. Her face pales, but what cuts Liara open is her forlorn, bewildered expression. She genuinely cannot fathom the rejection Liara has just dealt out; as the shock of the wound hits, Shepard is completely poleaxed. Liara bites her lip again, tastes blood this time, trying to contain the cry of denial that's fighting its way up her throat.

Mercifully, Miranda Lawson breaks the deadlock. "We'll be in touch," she states as she lays a hand on Shepard's shoulder. Shepard doesn't flinch or brush her off, as though the Cerberus officer's touch is welcome. Jealousy boils up in Liara, and her face must show it, because a sudden flash of savage satisfaction flickers in Shepard's eyes as she turns and walks away without a word, Miranda following close behind.

Liara watches her go, the pain in her chest so acute that it steals her breath. As soon as the door hisses shut, she collapses forward onto her desk, buries her face in the crook of her elbow, and a deep, heaving sob tears loose. The compulsion to give chase, to run after Rachel, drag her back in here and beg abjectly for her forgiveness is almost overwhelming.

_Athame's infinite grace, is it possible_ _that you could have made any more of a mess of that than you did? _"I'm sorry, Rachel," she whispers brokenly. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you."

Misery overwhelms her, and for a time she is a slave to its whim, sobbing helplessly into her sleeve. No matter how much she has changed, one thing is clear; she still loves Rachel.

_How could I not…_

_Liara leans on the balcony before her, looking out over the gardens of the Presidium. Although there are still scars from Sovereign's attack, in the two weeks since the battle the Keepers and repair crews have worked tirelessly, and already the area around the council tower has regained much of its pristine splendour, at least on the surface of things. Enough to recreate the sensation of tranquil calm the Presidium normally exudes._

_Hands grasp her hips, squeezing lightly for a moment, then slide round to clasp her waist as she's drawn up and off the balcony and into a gentle hug. A kiss skims her cheek, accompanied by the light tickle of human hair against her skin. "Hiya, Li," Shepard murmurs. "Been waiting long?"_

_"No," Liara assures, revelling in the contact. Their week of shore leave has made her much more aware of the warmth and strength of Shepard's body, and to be held in the human's arms imbues her with a sense of security she's rarely known. "Just a few minutes."_

_"Sorry, Councilor Valern went on a bit. I couldn't really tell him to shut up, so I had to wait for him to take a breath."_

_"But it went well?"_

_"As well as can be expected for now. Mopping up the geth might not be a carte blanche Reaper hunting licence, but it gives us cover to go looking, at least."_

_Liara turns in the circle of her lover's arms, hooks her hands round the human's neck as she looks into her eyes, reads the frustration lurking behind the positive tone of voice. "Who are you trying to convince, Rachel, me or yourself?"_

_Shepard smiles wryly. "Busted." She leans in, presses a light kiss to Liara's forehead. "You know me too well. Already."_

_"The perils of dating an asari," Liara teases, tapping her fingers against Shepard's temple._

_"Mmm." Shepard's smile expands into a grin. "Speaking of which…"_

_"What, asari?"_

_"No. Dating." Shepard squeezes her gently. "Are you busy this evening?"_

_Liara considers it. She has nothing arranged. Since returning from their leave yesterday morning she has been caught up with the business of reorganizing her life; arranging a sabbatical from her position at Serrice University, beginning to deal with the paperwork for her mother's estate, completing her consultancy assessments and insurance waivers for the Alliance, moving her belongings into Shepard's cabin, buying more belongings when she realized she had almost nothing to move. All of which has resulted in seeing very little of Rachel. Odd that she should have come to be so possessive of Shepard's presence so quickly. "I was hoping to spend some time with you," she answers truthfully._

_"Well, that works out nicely." Shepard draws her closer. "Meet me back here at nineteen hundred hours, ship's time. I'm taking you out for the evening." She ghosts a kiss against Liara's jaw. _

_"Where are we going?" Liara enquires, shivering at the touch of Shepard's lips against her skin._

_"Nuh-uh, not telling. It's a surprise."_

_"Well, what should I wear?"_

_"Whatever you're comfortable in," Shepard replies with a wink. "But nothing too complicated to get you out of, since you look even more beautiful undressed." _

_Liara blushes, reflexively looking around to see if anyone has overheard, and Shepard laughs, crushing her into a tight hug._

_"My God, you're adorable," she chuckles. "And if someone heard me, so much the better. I don't have any problem with people knowing I think you're beautiful."_

_Liara's blush deepens; she never knows how to respond to such compliments. "I…"_

_"It's OK, Li," Shepard assures her softly. "You don't need to say anything." She lowers her head, and kisses Liara, and the asari can't remember ever being happier._

The insistent chirp of her omni-tool brings her back to the present. Activating it, she sees a reminder for a meet-and-greet with the governor of Nos Astra at the Dracon Trade Center this evening. She has no interest in the event, really, but it cost a fortune to secure an invitation. Anyone who is anyone will be there, and the influence she can develop in four hours at this one function is more than regular work can garner in a year. She must compose herself; she cannot afford to waste the expenditure or the opportunity.

Agitated, she rises and walks to the window, tears still flowing, and stares down into the crowd, and her heart kicks as she sees Shepard walking side by side with Garrus. They stop, turning to face one another, and Garrus' mandibles flare wide in a laugh as he jabs his elbow toward Shepard's face. Laughing, she dodges the blow, and they start walking again, engaged in a mock-wrestling match as they work their way toward the docks. In spite of the playful interaction, Liara is not fooled. She recognises the tension in Shepard's shoulders even from range, even through the veil of tears that fogs her vision.

The stunned, hurt look on Rachel's face flickers through her mind once more, and suddenly, the office is claustrophobic, intolerable. Gathering her things, she leaves, scrubbing her cheeks clear of tears, informing Nyxeris that she'll work from home for the rest of the day, and yes, everything is fine.

The walk home helps her calm herself, but her immaculately appointed, high-end apartment (a necessary cover to give her the veneer of respectability and affluence that Nos Astra requires of its wannabe movers and shakers) offers no refuge. On rare occasions, particularly in recent months, she's started to notice how sterile and lifeless the space is, has begun thinking of how she might truly build a home here amid the towers of mirrors. Illium is a well-connected hub world, the reason she chose it as a base in the first place. The business she began to cover her hunt for the Broker has become profitable, adding to her already considerable resources, and her connections and political influence are burgeoning. She would do well here, if she chose. If this was the life she truly wanted.

She can't deny it holds its attractions. She enjoys the intellectual challenge of being a huntress in the digital jungle, an ecosystem infinitely more complex than any real-world environment. Tracking the Shadow Broker through the almost infinite pathways of data is by turns exhilarating and terrifying, as is the power of that data to influence lives. A misdemeanour exposed here, an alibi questioned there, and the whole edifice of an existence can be brought crashing down.

And therein lies the dark path of temptation, and the trade-off with her conscience. The jungle she hunts in is not always a clean place. Thus far, when not directly pursuing her enemy, Liara has tried to focus on legitimate dealings, taking on contracts for law enforcement, political analysis, and corporate R&D rather than anything more morally ambiguous, but even so, she has ventured into territory where the law has been, at best a secondary consideration, at worst an outright hindrance. Her respect for the rule of law has been corroded by experience, at least insofar as her own actions are concerned, and further worn away by her dealings with her legal consultants, whose moral flexibility is available to anyone who can afford their eye-wateringly expensive hourly rate. Every time she is required to call on them, the price exacted from her innocence hurts far more than the damage to her bank balance. But whatever crimes Liara has committed have been carefully bleached from existence, first by her lawyers, and then by her own hand. The hack into their system was by far the trickiest she's ever attempted, but with the enemies she has acquired, trust in a stranger is not something she can afford, also the reason she boasts no friends, and keeps even close acquaintances at a remove.

Looking around the lonely, immaculate apartment, her gaze catches the polished display case that holds Shepard's ruined armour. Liara's relics, her sacred items, the symbols of her faith and her crusade. The tangible daily reminder that she has already lost the most precious thing she possessed to the Reapers. Rachel gave her life to defend against their threat, a sacrifice that demands no less a measure of devotion from Liara. Her innocent views on the galaxy are a small price in comparison; she would give much more to stop the Reapers. The display is there to remind her that she cannot lay down the burden of the oath she swore over Shepard's body before she handed it to Cerberus.

And yet somehow, the armour has lost its aura, as though Shepard's resurrected form has reclaimed any essence that might once have imbued the relic. The scant comfort Liara has eked out over the years, of fighting on as she believes her love would want her to, has been shown for the guttering candle it is beside the beacon of Shepard's presence. And Liara is terrified now that, like that candle, she will be found wanting when measured against Shepard's memory of her, of the naïve maiden she was when she fell hopelessly in love with a hero. Seeing Shepard again has rammed home how lonely she is here, how isolated. But to regain Rachel, and then lose her not to the battle but to the decisions she's made, that… that would be the cruellest of all self-inflicted wounds. This outcome, she fears more than the possibility of Shepard's death… to be condemned to watch her walking away.

Seeking a distraction, Liara ascends to her bedroom. She needs to get ready for the evening. Stepping into her closet, she pulls the dress she plans to wear tonight from amid her small but carefully calibrated selection of formalwear. (Another minor fortune expended, but even Liara will admit that the stylist who assisted her was worth every credit.) The jade fabric drapes sensuously over her fingers, a rich, soft material that moulds to her every curve. She wonders what Rachel would think of the dress.

_She paces the Presidium nervously, running her hands down the dress she spent hours picking out, fussing with the fall of the material she's not used to wearing. She hasn't worn a dress since Janiris last year, and even that was a rare happenstance, and, Goddess, what if…_

_"Wow." Shepard's voice is stunned. Shyly, Liara turns to face the human, tugging nervously at her neckline. _

_"Do you… like it?"_

_Shepard sucks in a breath, lets out a tiny huff of laughter. "Do I like it?" She runs her hands down Liara's flanks, smoothing the deep jade material over her hips. "My God, Liara… you're breathtaking." She catches Liara's hand, lifts it to her lips, and presses a kiss to her knuckles. "Yes. I like it. Very much."_

She lays the dress down on the bed, finds the shoes that match and selects some jewellery, a simple necklace and bracelet that belonged to her mother. She strips the business ensemble she's wearing, dumping it in the refresher station and sits down on the bed, studying her choice of attire for the evening, once again with the wrong audience in mind.

_After a sumptuous dinner and a tour of one of the Presidium's newer attractions, a human antiquities museum holding an exhibition on Ancient Greece, Rachel leads Liara to the Park Hotel, near the Consort's apartments. A room is reserved for them, and as soon as they're alone, Rachel pulls Liara into a close embrace, her hands wandering freely as they kiss._

Liara settles back on her bed, closing her eyes as the knot of tension that has been tightening ever since Rachel Shepard stalked into her office and kissed her finally identifies itself as arousal. It's been so long since she felt it that it's unfamiliar, almost unwelcome.

_Rachel's fingers find the closure of her dress, unsealing the garment with torturous slowness. Liara shivers as the cool air whispers across her exposed skin, leans closer into the blazing warmth of Shepard's body. Task completed, the human's warm fingers trail back up her spine, then across her shoulder blades, hooking the straps of her dress and pulling them clear of her shoulders._

_The garment flows down Liara's body to pool at her feet._

_"See," Shepard whispers, "you're even more beautiful now." She strokes her palm down over Liara's collarbone and chest, cupping her left breast and squeezing it lightly. _

Liara lets her own hands caress her body, imitating her graphic recall, teasing her own aroused flesh. It's an activity she seldom indulges in, since, like any other memory of intimacy, it has become irrevocably associated with her lover. And without the meld, it's a poor substitute for satisfaction at the best of times, a fact that she's inevitably reminded of on the rare occasions that she's minded to attend her own pleasure.

_Touch yourself, Li. Rachel's voice entreats Liara through the meld, her fingers caressing the folds of the asari's neck with a deft, sensual touch. Take full advantage of your hands and mine. Let me feel what pleases you. She takes Liara's hand, guides it down to the junction of her thighs, uses the asari's own fingers to massage her. As Shepard lets go, Liara obeys her lover's instruction even as Rachel's fingers wander up to her breasts, and she lets out an involuntary gasp._

She slides her hand between her legs, feeling the slick warmth of her need, and as her fingers graze over the apex of her azure, her memory betrays her completely, carried away by the recollection of that first date, a recollection she has not permitted herself to indulge in for years: _The imploring, worshipful look in Rachel's eyes as Liara's kiss torments the sensitive flesh of the human's sex, tasting her arousal. Her deep, husky groan of pleasure as she climaxes, self-command undone by Liara's touch. And then, reciprocity; Rachel's skilled fingers working her to ecstasy; the taste of the human's kisses; the powerful rhythm of her muscles shifting beneath Liara's hands as the human works to pleasure her. "Rachel," she cries as her lover enfolds her in a tender embrace, anchoring her as her orgasm sweeps through her, and then, blissfully, the peaceful, sated afterglow of collapsing into her human's arms._

Her biotics light up, the snap-discharge crackling around the room and jerking her back to the present. She opens her eyes, finding herself alone, fingers tangled in her underwear, and the magnitude of what she's lost obliterates the brief euphoria of her memory, eradicates the simulacrum of passion her own touch has concocted. Rachel's devastated expression of defeat, not two hours old, inflicted by Liara's own hand, desecrates the sanctity of her recall, a jeering, splintering counterpoint to her beloved's happiness in that moment.

_I can't. I can't do this._ Rising, she hurries to the bathroom, setting the shower to its coldest setting and plunging beneath the icy spray. The shock makes her gasp, douses the pernicious fire of her arousal with brutal efficiency. What the water can't wash away, though, are her emotions, the tangled skeins of fear, despair and abject loneliness that are throttling the joy she desperately wants to feel at the thought that Rachel is alive, that Rachel appears to want her; that she need no longer be sustained by memories and fantasies; that her love is alive and vibrant. That she doesn't have to be alone anymore. The idea of seeing her tomorrow fills her with equal parts dread and bliss.

She stays beneath the shower until her teeth begin to chatter, until her omni-tool alarm is shrieking that she will be late, giving herself no opportunity to think further. Drying off, she replaces the jade dress in the wardrobe, selects a silver one in its place and dresses mechanically, donning another piece of the emotional armour of the broker's profession with each garment and accoutrement she slides into place. She has work to do, and she must focus. By the time she is ready to leave, she has her emotions locked away, forced back behind the mask she has become so accustomed to wearing. _Time to go to work, T'Soni. Leave your childish insecurities out of sight, where they belong._

Hailing a taxicab, she steps out of her apartment building to begin her journey. Preoccupied with planning her strategy, she does not notice the stealthy figure of a watcher atop the building opposite, the glint of the street light off the polished surface of the watcher's armour, or the laser sight that dances on the window of her apartment.


End file.
